Eternally
by Trahnael
Summary: FBI Special Agent Arthur Kirkland found himself in deep trouble one night. If not for a man he didn't even know, he could've been killed right in that alley. But he was a special agent, and he did not like saving. He thought being saved by a nobody was a disgrace, giving him a reason to hate his savior. Next day, a striking fact about this man shocked him...


Eternally

Pairing: Alfred F. Jones/Arthur Kirkland (America/England)

Summary:

FBI Special Agent Arthur Kirkland found himself in deep trouble one night. If not for a man he did not even know, he could have been killed right in that alley, three guns shooting three bullets all at the same time right at his head. But he was a special agent, and he did not like saving. He thought being saved by a nobody was a disgrace, giving him a reason to hate his savior. Next day, a striking fact about this man shocked him...

Chapter 1.

Alfred looked at his wristwatch before looking around his busy surroundings, his left foot tapping impatiently on the cold floor of the building. Sighing exasperatedly, he glanced at the crowded counter and at the menu overhead the employees of this fast-food restaurant. It's been half an hour since he started standing on almost the same spot; the line's movement towards the counter was just so slow, it was irritating. But even though this was the case, Alfred decided to wait some more since he was only three customers away by now. Once there, he quickly ordered what he wanted and dashed outside.

It was the first time in weeks that Alfred has seen his favorite fast-food restaurant THAT busy. It was irritating, really. It was already nine in the evening so he actually did not think that the place would be that crowded. This street somewhere in the outskirts of New York where Alfred was currently strolling about— it was like a ghost town especially that there weren't much people around, nor there were cars passing by. The lights from the different buildings were bright but dim, and the darkness in the alleys stretched out to the sky that seemed like an abyss of nothingness without the stars. Alfred was tired from a whole day of training, and with this kind of outdoor environment, he thought it would be nice to grab a hamburger or two in there, only to be stressed out by the establishment's busyness.

Another sigh escaped him before he decided to take one burger and eat it. At least the food was good. Tonight, he actually thought it was the only thing that was good. He swallowed and sighed again.

He was about to drink from his cup of cola when he noticed from the corner of his eyes something moving in an alley, and then afterwards, heard two voices engaged in a less-than-pleasant conversation. It echoed softly through the silent streets, brought and delivered by the winds to Alfred's ears. He could not hear the conversation quite well, so curiosity took over him as he caught himself warily crossing the street and stepping closer to the opening of the alley where he had heard the said voices. Pressing himself against a wall, he intently tried to listen to what was happening, and if it was something bad, he will do what he can to save whoever was in jeopardy, just like how a 'hero' like him would do it...

"...You have nowhere to go, Arthur," Alfred heard a low voice say before hearing a click. Alfred was sure there was a gun present; that click was caused by a revolver's hammer. Suddenly, a scene popped in his mind— a scene wherein a man was pointing a pistol at another. He thought he had to do something.

"Nor you..." was the other man's reply; Alfred guessed he was the Arthur person. The sound of this man's voice, his powerful British accent and calming tone— Alfred felt himself drowning. He slapped himself to snap out. "...You wouldn't be able to run away easily."

"Who said I have to? I just have to kill you, Arthur. And I'll be on my way."

"I will not be killed by you."

"Oh, really."

Alfred heard two more hammers clicked. There were more guns, and he knew they were all directed to that Arthur person. He had to do something. He told himself he had to help.

He grabbed the first heavy thing he could find, which in this case was a big block of cement chipped off an old wall. It really was heavy and for a moment, Alfred thought he might drop it anytime. Hurting his nails and fingers, the cement was rough and harsh against his skin. He had to throw it now, not that he minded getting his hands wounded. "Hey!" he shouted, revealing himself by the opening of the alley.

He felt movement in the dark; probably when everyone paused to turn to him.

"Who the hell are you!?" said the man wearing a white coat obvious in the absence of light; his voice the one Alfred has heard first. Thus, the latter decided to throw the block of cement at him. Hit him right on the head, immediately putting him to sleep. He ran to the other three afterwards, only to be confused who was who in the dark. He could sense only little of them, like the white sleeves of one man's jacket, the light-colored pants of the other, the blond hair of the last one.

"Who's Arthur here?" he asked as it was the only way he could think of clearing the confusion, especially in the middle of a fight, in the middle of dodging punches and kicks from random directions. Stupid, yes, but it was better than not finding out at all.

"I am," replied the man who owned the blond hair, saying it with a hint of irritation in his voice. Nonetheless, Alfred stole the two guns he could sense right at that moment and hit the two other men in the head and stomach, putting them to a deep sleep, as expected, especially with Alfred's incredible strength. He wondered if fighting with bad guys could really be that easy... No, of course not. They were just taken aback at his surprise...

Arthur heaved a sigh beside him as their eyes paid a glance on the unconscious men. "Why did you do that? I could've handled them myself with ease," said the British with too much coldness in his voice; Alfred did not know what else to say other than the obvious.

"Drop the ego, dude," said Alfred. "You and I both know that if I didn't help you out back there, three guns could have shot three bullets in your head all at once. Besides, three versus one's never easy. Never fair."

Arthur ignored him. Vexation could have taken control of him at that moment if he did not have enough self-will to keep himself at bay. He shrugged this matter off after a few thoughts, watching with curiosity as the man named Arthur locked handcuffs around the wrists of the unconscious men, finally realizing that Arthur could actually be a policeman or something. No wonder he did not like Alfred saving him. "Are you gonna throw those guys to jail?"

"Yes, you bloody bastard. Isn't that obvious enough?" Alfred could feel Arthur rolling his eyes, and he could feel himself slowly becoming bitter to this man. He did not even say a simple thank you, for Pete's sake...

"Help me out here, will you?"

Alfred and Arthur went to the open street, dragging the bad guys with them and stopping once out of the dark alley and in light's reach. When Alfred turned to Arthur, shock was the first thing that overwhelmed his whole body, heart, and mind, just not expecting this conceited British guy to have such a beautiful and... innocent-looking face, a look that suited his calming voice but not his character— the one Alfred was currently seeing, that is. His blond hair obvious in the dark was shiny under the lights, smooth and soft as the cool spring wind blew; his green eyes as deep and intense as summer-green needles of his favorite pine trees back home. Though his brows were thick and bushy, and though they met above his nose in an irritated manner, Alfred still thought they were adorable— and probably, even their owner could have been if not for how he spoke to him just minutes ago. That personality... Alfred wondered if there were important reasons behind it...

"Hey," Alfred called absent-mindedly with an absent-minded smile; he can't believe those green eyes were even more beautiful once directed to him.

"What?"

_What?_ He did not really mean to call the other's attention. His back straightening and stiffening, he squeezed a thought out of his head. "Who... Who are these people anyway?"

Arthur rolled his eyes away and crossed his arms as another sign of irritation— a sigh this time— escaped him and Alfred could not help but feel a bit of irritation as well, simply because of how the other was treating him. It was unreasonable.

"You really did not want me to interfere, huh?"

"Oh, thank you for noticing!" Arthur spoke with blatant sarcasm. "I could have handled them myself, you know."

"What a pride," Alfred mumbled. "Did I ruin your reputation that much?"

Arthur just glared.

"Look, I don't know you much but whoever you are, you should know that everyone needs help sometimes. We can't live alone forever. We can't survive alone."

"Yes," Arthur finally answered with his tone still full of emphasized irritation. "I do need help sometimes. But a while ago is not one of those 'sometimes'."

"Bah... whatever. I saved you. That's that. Period."

That moment, a car came in high-speed and stopped just in front of them. The tainted window glass of the front passenger seat slid down, revealing a sternly-built man sitting on the driver seat, having blue eyes and shoulder-leveled blond hair tied up to a low ponytail behind him. The grin on his face suggested confidence and pride, things that even Alfred had too much of, to be honest. Alfred's first impression of this man was fine for him, unlike that of Arthur. The man smiled and he smiled back.

"Francis Bonnefoy, FBI." The man showed a badge to prove his introduction, something that amazed Alfred right away. He was French, Alfred was sure. His smile turned to a grin as he greeted back, "Hi! Are you with Arthur?"

"Don't be so confident of calling me with my first name, you duffer. I don't even know you," said the British, glaring at him even more before turning to the man named Francis. "Let's get out of here," he added as he went to open the baggage door of the SUV. Francis went out of the car to help him collect the captured guys, went back the moment they were finished; Arthur followed to the passenger seat in front. All the while, Alfred just stared at the two of them, amused and confused and... strangely uneasy. He didn't know why. He was just uneasy.

"Arthur, no 'thank you'?" he was finally able to ask just before the car could disappear. Francis smiled and winked at him like he was trying to say something, though he did not know what that something was; Arthur on the other hand just glared and looked away. Alfred shrugged, walked away before the car could leave; only the words "See ya `round," was his farewell. He felt bitter, yes, but he was smiling all the while, because he was just as drowned in those beautiful green eyes. He wanted to meet Arthur again, to prove to him hate was not needed, nor embarrassment. And he was sure, they will meet again.

...

Arthur felt his throbbing temples throb even more, the noise of his work-mates everywhere in the office echoed inside his painful head as he took courage to take a step away from the elevator, another, and another, and another; walked slowly and unwillingly towards his desk and finally settled down on his swivel chair once he reached it. He sat with a heavy sigh, a sigh that gave away his suffering this morning. Last night was such duff; it started dumb, went on stupid, ended up inside a bar when Arthur decided to have a drink with Francis— only to get a bit too much drunk to even realize how he spilled out to the French everything that happened in the alley. Dammit, Arthur was a respected agent in FBI, and if people find out how a nobody saved him from a stupid way of dying... He can't bear to think of how people will look at him. It was so embarrassing! And on top of that, he told everything to Francis, of all people! Arthur was sure that everyone has found out about it by now.

The sight of Francis just in front of his desk made the morning even worse. Made him feel worse. Francis was on his own chair, facing Arthur's place, grinning amusingly without even a hint of hangover pain perceptible on his face. Francis was used to getting drunk; he was too, he took note, but last night was just too much, he didn't even try to get a hold of himself... going overboard and losing control.

"What are you looking at, idiot!?" Arthur grumbled, his gruff voice an enough give-away of his suffering. He stretched out his currently frail and shaky arms in front of him, slowly folding it afterwards and positing it on his desk, using them as pillows for his light and woozy head. Face now hidden from everything, the Brit tried not to mind even after sensing Francis' hand on his wrist. The French tried to call his attention, his voice echoing and ringing inside Arthur's head that almost made it explode. It was irritating. Francis was irritating. For Arthur, he was loud despite how soft he called, turbulent despite how careful he actually was. He thought it was all right to just ignore and block all sounds and senses and just sleep there; unfortunately he just can't do it. "What is it!?" he finally snapped, cocking his head upwards to shoot a glare. The French's unreasonable sheepish smile could have earned him a punch, if not for the sudden commotion by the elevator where one of their superiors just so happened to come from with someone seemingly new. Arthur slowly turned his swivel chair around; gathered up enough will to look at who was causing the commotion. Surely it was the person next to their superior. He glanced at this person's shoes first— they were rubber shoes and obviously very wanted— before letting his eyes travel upwards to the man's denim pants, jacket and shirt, collar, neck, face...

Arthur felt his heart stop, his breath quicken as he suddenly ran out of breathe, his face burn like the hottest day of summer, his body shake, his palm turn slick with sweat of anxiety slowly forming. His headache was gone for a brief moment before it came back with more intensity that the nervousness brought, his sight started to dim but he decided he won't black out. It was the man who saved him last night, and seeing him today was what he least wanted. Dammit, he was the main reason why Arthur drunk too much last night in the first place. To forget about his flaws that led to what could have been his doom if not for this man. Oh, it was embarrassing, how he acted in front of this person after being saved. Now, he's here, in this office, where only FBI agents are allowed to enter. Why is he here anyway?

"Um... Sir," Arthur greeted as he slowly stood up. He turned from his superior to his savior, only to find him already staring back. Arthur couldn't keep eye contact, his heartbeat was just too fast and his face too red.

"Arthur?" called the tall American with hazel-blond hair and deep blue eyes, the features he easily recognized at first glance after last night. "You're here."

"Well, yes. I work here. You do know that Francis and I are from here, right?" Arthur replied as if it was too plain and obvious not to notice. But then he realized, with that statement, that this man did not come here for him.

"Agent Kirkland," called his superior. "You two have already met last night, am I right? Heard from Francis that this guy here saved you. Close call."

"Y-Yes, sir..."

Arthur's superior faced the rest of the wide but crowded room and called for everyone's attention. "Everyone," he announced as he gestured towards the man with him, "this is Alfred Jones; he'll be working with you from now on."

Arthur watched as Alfred flashed yet again his worriless smile, the smile Alfred has shown him, too, last night. Darn, it was so comforting it was irritating! Arthur hated it!

"I'm pleased to work with everyone."

...

Arthur found himself dazed yet again as the man named Alfred turned to him.

_..._

_To be continued..._


End file.
